This must be the place: ‘I have something on my mind, was it you on the other side’

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This must be the place: ‘I have something on my mind, was it you on the other side’

Me in Montana. Jessica Holley photo

Hello from Room 310 at the Apres Hotel in Whitefish, Montana. It’s currently 10:36 a.m. (Mountain Standard Time). Tuesday. The skies are overcast with a slight drizzle this morning. The streets in this small outpost town are somewhat quiet, too, especially after the whirlwind of the Under the Big Sky music festival this past weekend.

Door-to-door, it’s 2,290 miles from my apartment in downtown Waynesville to the Apres (4,580 miles roundtrip). This being my third time attending the massive Rocky Mountain gathering, I’ve got a pretty good lay of the land at this point. Beyond the event itself, I know where all the rowdy late-night saloons are, as well as the best spots for a late lunch after a gloriously sweaty hike in the nearby woods.

And this go-round was no different. Libations and shenanigans way past the midnight hour. Drinks hoisted high and in unison of this moment together with dear friends from across the country, some only seen at this juncture each year. Disappearing acts into the ancient forest, hiking up the mountain ridges to get a better view of just how remote this area is. Not to mention the hearty meals along the way.

The organized chaos of a music festival unfolding in real time. Over 20,000 music freaks running around a 400-acre working ranch turned venue for this one weekend in mid-July each year. And there I was, in the mid dle of it all, trying to capture the moment at-hand and simply immerse myself in the who, what, where and why of being in attendance within the vastness of the endless universe.

But, beyond all the bands and songs, hot midday sun and late evening sunsets, cold cans of Montucky beer most of the day and fresh Texas barbecue for dinner, what the biggest takeaway is for this scruffy journalist always comes down to one thing — human interaction. For that’s what the point of any festival or cultural gathering is, to connect and reconnect with others, either known or unknown. And to, perhaps, walk away with a better sense of self, better awareness of our surroundings.

Running into old friends and catching up about nothing and everything and everything in-between. Making new acquaintances and fast friends amid the whirlwind energy of the festival itself. Leaning in close during a loud concert to hear them better. Leaning in close to find common ground and make genuine connections about life, families and careers.

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By Monday morning, I’m typing away in my hotel room, putting the finishing touches on a festival recap article for Rolling Stone. By that afternoon, I’m hiking up a trail with one of the public relations folks running the festival. The four-mile out and back trek underneath a slight drizzle offering a majestic ridgetop view of the splendid Whitefish Lake. Hike back down in time to get ready for dinner with the others.

A couple hours later, we’re sitting at a table in some fancy Italian restaurant. The annual “goodbye” dinner. Well, until next year. They all call Los Angeles home. Jovial folks and easy to befriend. My kind of people. Hearty laughter and conversation. Wines glasses toasting the moment. Plans in motion to hang again soon, hopefully at least once before we find ourselves back out here for the next installment of UTBS.

Skip ahead to the here and now. Wednesday morning. I’m currently sitting on the balcony of a hotel in Idaho Falls, Idaho. Slowly making my way back across the country to Western North Carolina in the coming days. The roar of the nearby falls echoes through the quaint downtown. The warm late July sunshine radiating across the desolate rolling valleys and high peaks of rural Eastern Idaho.

I used to run around these parts some 18 years ago, when I was 22 and a rookie newspaper reporter in 2008 in Driggs, Idaho. I covered ranchers, ski bums, rich folks and whatever oddball characters I’d come across in my travels between Teton County, Idaho, and Jackson, Wyoming just over the Teton Pass. And I love every subject I found out here. That sense of exploration, discovery and pure joy is still within me throughout my work in WNC and greater Southern Appalachia.

It all seems like yesterday and a million years ago at the same time. I was so young then. I still feel young, even at age 40 now. In truth, the older I get, the more I realize how young I was (looking back). I remain just as curious and inspired. And now, I return to Teton Valley to dive deep into the people, places and things that still ricochet around the back of my mind, especially in the midst of a cross-country road trip.

Passing through Swan Valley, take a left on Route 33 and eventually over the Big Hole Mountains, the truck then slowly descending into Teton Valley. A warm, soothing breeze pushing into the open windows of the vehicle. The sounds of Bob Wills & The Texas Playboys radiating from the stereo. Melodies conjured and released the better part of a century ago. Still so poignant, so rich in character and melodic depth. Wills’ tunes continually bring ease and appreciation to me.

Soon, the nose of my dusty truck will cruise into the small mountain town of Victor, Idaho. I’ll surely drive by my old apartment, that $500-a-month studio behind an empty mobile home, during that winter of 2007-2008 with record-breaking snowfall (over 600 inches). Deadlines and assignments on my desk at the newsroom in nearby Driggs.

Cold, silent nights spent asleep in that tiny apartment, waking up in the middle of the night and gazing at the stars outside the window. My thoughts would hover around my decision to leave the East Coast right after college and drive across America to chase this dream of the written word. Everything familiar in my life up until that point now in the rearview mirror. Now what? And where to from here, eh? Funny how those same questions still ring true in my 40-year-old head.

Regardless, it’s been 17 years since those Idaho days. So much has happened, with so much more to do, see and experience. And I’m here for all of it. Plans are in the works to have dinner and drinks tonight with some of my old Victor friends at the Knotty Pine Supper Club, a block from that former studio of mine. I’m excited to see them. And I’ll make sure to send you a postcard of what transpired. Stay tuned.

Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.

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